


Prince to Prisoner:  A Fall

by Punny_Puck



Series: POW Avengers [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Movieverse), The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, And Geography, Asgard is Somewhere Close to Denmark, Laufey's Even Worse, Loki and Natasha are Just Friends, Loki is Always a Spy, Multi, No Powers Except Intellect, Odin's A+ Parenting, Prisoner of War AU, Self-Harm, Swearing, Terrible History, Torture, WWII, Warning: attempted suicide, suicidal character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punny_Puck/pseuds/Punny_Puck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Historical AU set just before WWII. Prequel to Avengers of the Stalag, setting up Loki's back story and the nature of Asgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Suicide Attempts. Nothing too graphic, but I don't want to take any chances.

Sometimes, Loki thinks about how easy a life can fall apart.  He had always imagined it as a slow process.  A crack here, a chip there.  But when his own life was shattered, it was in one catastrophic blow.  A lightning strike and then silence. 

 

He had been in university at the time.  A large, sprawling campus in an ivy-laced city in America.  He’d loved the feel of it.  Asgard was in a valley, hemmed in by tall evergreens and sharp-edged mountains.  Its tall buildings were gorgeous, ornate, and cold.  Its people much the same.  The sky had seemed so tiny with the trees and the mountains and the golden city towers blocking it out.  Loki had always felt like one day the entire country was going to spring shut like a bear-trap, trapping him inside its claustrophobic jaw. 

The university was better.  Open and spacious, with gruff, utilitarian brick buildings and casual equality.  It had thrown him at first, the lack of clear hierarchy and the odd comradeship of the students.  He found himself unsure how to act without the conventions of court and the etiquette in which he’d been raised.  After the first few weeks of bewilderment, he’d found himself loving the place that didn’t care about his rank or his brother or his interests.  He found comfort in the fact that all was unknown.  He thrived there, earning top marks and becoming a favorite amongst his professors.  He had found his place in the world and he had loved it. 

 

Then he had gone home.  It was the winter break of his senior year.  He decided he would visit home for Yule.  He could tell his parents the good news; he had been accepted into graduate school.  He could study to become a professor and never leave the place that had accepted him. 

Loki had been happy.  Even the taunts of his brother’s friends and the veiled insults of the court couldn’t extinguish his good mood.  Then his father had made his announcements.  Thor was to be crowned and Loki would not be returning to university.  Just like that.  In the middle of the Yule feast with the whole court looking on. 

“But father,” he’d said, after the plates had been removed and the revelers had gone to light the bonfire.  “I have been accepted to return to the graduate school.  I can get a degree.”

“You have a degree.  Your country needs you here, Loki.  Thor will need an advisor.  What did you think the purpose of sending you to that gods-forsaken country was?”

“But fath—“

His father had made that infernal growling noise and Loki had fallen silent.  “I have already informed the university of your decision.  You will not be returning and that is final.”

Loki had said nothing.  He’d shrugged off the embrace of his mother and slammed into his rooms.  He could not stay in Asgard.  He knew that.  It hadn’t been so bad when Asgard was all there was.  When he had no ivy- covered streets to compare it to.  But the thought was unbearable now that he knew there could be more.  That there were places where he was appreciated more than his brother, that there were places where he was treated as a friend.  He couldn’t stay. 

 

So he had erred.  If his father would not send him, then he would go himself.  All he needed was access to his trust fund and he could pay the entire length in advance.  Then it was just the simple task of returning to the States to study. 

He’d gone to his father’s study.  Odin would have the information in a file in his office.  But there was more. 

The file was marked Loki.  No patronymic.  He’d rifled through without truly looking at first, before he realized the papers weren’t medical records or bank details, but letters.  Then he had read them. 

_“Lord Laufey, your support of this trade agreement is required.”_

_“Lord Laufey, I would caution you against your support of this party.”_

_“Lord Laufey, if you wish for certain details of your past to remain silent, you will heed my words.”_

Odin was blackmailing Lord Laufey of Jotunheim, a province of Germany.  What on earth was that about?  Laufey was a powerful member of the German aristocracy and a leader in the power-hungry Nazi party.  He was called the Frost Giant and it was said that during the war between Asgard and Germany, he had killed thousands of Aesir men and feasted on their innards.  Loki’s nursemaids had threatened to send him off to Jotunheim when his pranks got too malicious.  “The Blue Butcher will teach you manners,” they’d whispered. 

 And Odin had something to hold over his head?  How did Loki not know?  The letters went back for years.  Loki had flipped to the first one in the file, dated when he was only a babe.

_“Lord Laufey,_

_Our countries have finally parted in peace, and for that I am sincerely glad.  I am certain you share my weariness with the death of our countrymen.  Wars this long are not meant for old men like you and I, but for our sons.  Sons I hope will never shed the blood of each other._

_I understand that you do not share this sentiment, however.  I have seen your son; I have held him in the ruin of the St. Jude’s Cathedral in Jotunheim. He was nearly blue with the cold, his mother lying in a pool of blood beside the altar.  I knew him by the mark on his wrist, a birthmark I had observed on your own arm and your father’s before you—a family trait that cannot be disguised._

_The woman—I assume she was the mother; she was quite dead when I arrived—I observed was not quite the ideal Aryan your current cohorts desire.  I can understand your reluctance to admit a child sprung from such a union.  But such a child now exists and I would be remiss if I did not inform you of his existence._

_You see at the end of the war, I found myself weary of death and destruction, and when I found the boy waiting for death in the snow, I could not leave him to his fate.  I took him home with me to Asgard and have raised him as my own._

_Do not mistake me, Lord Laufey, I am not informing you as a threat; rather the opposite.  I would have this peace be a long-lasting one and if I am required to use this boy as your motivation, I will do so._

_Before you act rashly, remember your companions.  How would they react to your bastard child, the spawn of a Jewess?  How would they see your loyalty to the Third Reich, then?_

_Think on your actions before you respond,_

_Odin Allfather_

_King of Asgard”_

Loki had let the paper slip from his limp hand and fallen to his knees in his father’s study.  He was not Loki Odinson, second prince of Asgard.  He was Loki Laufeyson, bastard son of a monster and stolen prize of the war.  He was blackmail.  A dirty secret to be hidden away in the mountains of a different country.  A tiny handhold over a terrible man. 

He didn’t know how long he had knelt there, but when he finally rose he could barely stand on his stiff legs and the morning sun was showing through the windows.  He’d taken the letter and pinned it to the leather blotter of his not-father’s desk with a dagger.

He didn’t leave a note of his own.

 

The Rainbow Bridge had been cold that day.  The frost had left dewy drops on the bannisters and rails.  The statue of the gatekeeper looked darker in the wet.  Heimdall, they had called him.  The legendary guardian of the Asgard.  He saw all and knew all and would never let an enemy pass him unchallenged.  But he had, Loki thought, looking up into those blind stone eyes.  A baby he may have been but  he was still an enemy who Heimdall had allowed into Asgard.  And Loki was there to mend his mistake. 

He was nothing.  Nothing.  A child stolen as a chess piece and expected to play his part.  He couldn’t return to university.  He couldn’t stay in Asgard.  He shuddered at the thought of years passing, anxiety at being known seeping into his bones, sitting quietly while his brother reveled and played at being king.  Withering like a plant left in the shadows.    

 

He remembered the cold of the rails in his hands, the feel of the ancient stone under his boots.  He remembered the feeling of the cold winter wind on his face and the feeling of desolation in his chest. He remembered the swirling vortex of water nearly two-hundred feet below.   

He didn’t remember the fall.  For that he should be grateful.  He only remembered the pain he felt when he woke, broken and bleeding in a hospital in Dragør.  He had left the hospital as soon as he could hobble.  He’d only the clothes he had taken from the lockers in the changing rooms and a few kroner he’d found in the pockets. And a scalpel.   

He’d gotten about a mile down the road when he found a good spot. He left the pavement and climbed down into a dry creek bed. 

 

He’d woken again in the same bed in Dragør and despaired.  It seemed the Norns would not allow him this small mercy.  Perhaps the stories his father told him were true—that the Aesir were descended from gods and could not be killed.  But then of course, killing himself would not be so hard, then.  

This time the doctors had had the foresight to tie him to the bed, careful around his bandaged wrists.  And leave him supervised. 

“Are you feeling better?”

Loki hadn’t bothered looking up let alone answering.  The redheaded nurse just got up and checked the restraints. 

“I didn’t think so.”  Her Danish accent was nearly impeccable, but he could hear traces of Russian.  She wasn’t a nurse.  She was too aware.  Too completely cognizant of the way her body moved. Loki might have guessed a dancer who had turned to nursing, but that didn’t explain the coldness in her eyes.  That screamed assassin. 

And for a moment Loki’s heart beat faster with fear, but then he remembered.  She could just do the job for him, couldn’t she?

She seemed to see the thought on his face.  “I won’t help you out there.  You’ve got a month mandatory here.  If you can convince them you’re sane by the end of the month, you can leave.”

“You will not stop me?”  Loki had asked.

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face.  “Only you can do that.”


	2. The End?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Loki comes to be in Stalag III.

She must have known who he was.  Asgard was secretive, but they could not hide the suicide of one of their princes for too long.  She must have known, and kept it quiet.  Hidden him from any questions, allowed him to stay here, far away from his past.

She had stayed with him.  He lied to the doctors, to the nurses.  He told them what they wished to hear.  He appeared to take the pills they gave him.  He was, by all appearances, evening out. 

It was only to the redheaded assassin—Natasha.  He knew her name by then—that he had dropped the act.  He would return from the sessions and lean over a game of chess or cards or vodka and they would sometimes talk.  It was not until his last night that she told him of herself.  The things she had done and how she could live with them. 

He had not returned the favor, only sat beside her with their shoulders brushing and poured her another shot. 

 

Loki was discharged the next day.  The doctors had given him decent clothing and enough money for a train ticket back to Asgard.  They didn’t know his status, but his clothing was distinctly Asgardian.  He had also liberated a number of small blades from various hospital residents.

He stood outside the hospital gates for nearly an hour before Natasha came out and leaned against the wall next to him.

“I am unsure how to proceed,” he’d said haltingly. 

Natasha hadn’t asked, only taken his hand and led him away.

 

She took him to Britain.  He’d been there before; the All-father had sent him and his brother to schools in Britain before Loki went to university and Thor returned to Asgard.  It was a familiar place that smelled of damp and sea and smoke. 

 

He would later wonder how she knew that he could be of use to her employers.  How she kept his father and brother from finding him, how she decided to recruit him to begin with.  But by the time the questions occurred to him, he already had his answer.  She was Natasha.  That was all. 

 

They gave him purposes.  At the beginning, mostly translation and decoding, but more and more off-base.  More and more wet-work. 

 

Natasha was still there, and he finally disclosed some of his past over vodka and pickles.  Not Laufey, never Laufey, but other things.  That he was raised a prince, that he had tried to die, that he was never going back.  She already knew, of course, but she had seemed pleased to be told anyway. 

He began to believe he could go on.  He could redeem the error of his birth.  He may have been born a monster, but he could somehow earn a small amount of acceptance.  Not from his birth family, nor Asgard, never them, but from his new compatriots and his new country. 

 

The mission had come nearly nine months after he first arrived in Britain.  The British were already at war, and Loki with them.  They wished to take out a major member of the German aristocracy, a king-maker whose money and influence was one of the pillars on which the Fuhrer stood.  Laufey. 

Natasha was HQ’s choice, and Loki hers.  They would infiltrate the premises together and then Natasha would seduce and kill Laufey while Loki stayed as backup. 

The location was a Hotel in the Bavarian Alps.  A Nazi fundraising party for those who contributed most to the coffers.  Loki and Natasha posed as a newlywed couple on their honeymoon, attending dinners in the hotel restaurant where the Nazi officers and their companions dined.  It was here that Loki first caught sight of his birthfather. 

Laufey was in a dark corner of the room, dining with two younger men and one older.  He was not in uniform—apparently he had retired from military service after the Aesir-German war—contenting himself with supporting the Nazis financially. He wore a deep blue suit with matching tie and shirt.  The clothing made the tall, broad man look more like a wall of ice than anything else. 

The low lights hid his eyes and Loki thought for one hysterical moment that they were probably the color of the human blood Loki’s nursemaids had told him he drank.  He shook off the thought. 

Natasha had noticed, of course.  She often did.  And for the most part she didn’t ask about Loki’s oddities, but she did this once.

“What is he to you?” She’d asked when they returned to their room and begun to undress. 

Loki paused before answering.  “A nightmare,” he’d said, barely audible as he’d laid down in the bed. 

She’d sighed as she climbed in her side and kissed his cheek.  “No more tonight.”

 

The next morning was the day of the assassination.  Loki woke early that morning, pulling himself from the bed slowly as if it would stop Natasha from waking.  She only sighed when felt the mattress move. 

“I had hoped you were over this.”

“I am.”

“You’re twitching like a race horse.”  She’d sat up in the bed, her hair a halo of red curls around her and her nightgown revealing one pale shoulder.  She surveyed him critically and nodded to herself, acknowledging an observation she had made. 

“Will you kill him?” She’d asked, with no inflection or accusation in her voice.

“Yes,” he’d said. 

 

They’d changed the plans so he would be the one pulling the trigger.  It had been difficult, considering the distraction was supposed to be Natasha’s seduction, but they’d worked around it.  Lured him into a dark closet and pressed the silenced revolver to his head. 

“Finna ykkarr niðr, Faðir,”[1] Loki had hissed as he dug the barrel into Laufey’s temple.

“Atlaga, sveinn.  Eiga Allr-Faðir taka ykkarr drengskapr, argr?”[2]  Loki had pulled the trigger at the last word, a word he had heard all throughout his life in Asgard, and now from the lips of his birthfather. 

 

Natasha had had to clean up the vomit..

 

He could not remember the trip back to Britain.  It seemed like one moment he was covered in Laufey’s (his father’s) blood, and the next he was back in his tiny room in London, surrounded by empty bottles of whisky.    

 

“I can’t mop up the mess of you all the time,” Natasha had said. 

“No,” he’d agreed. 

 

He’d requested more field work, more work in the warzone.  Numb as Novocain.  A slower suicide.  Sometimes he had looked at his wrists and noticed they were bleeding with sluggish disinterest.  He had worked himself to exhaustion and drank himself to sleep. It was almost a relief to be captured. 

 

The torture was not a relief.  The humiliation and the pain of the Gestapo, watching his fingernails slowly pulled from their beds, finally ignited a feeling in his numb existence.  Anger.  A fiery rage that warmed his heart.  And he had grasped that feeling tooth and nail and found a way to survive until his false credentials were replaced by his real ones, and they decided the All-father’s wrath was not worth the satisfaction of watching him bleed. 

 

At first he thought they finally meant to kill him and for once the thought did not illicit a welcoming in Loki’s mind.  He did not wish to be beaten by these Germans whose blue eyes reminded him of Laufey’s as the life left them.  He would not allow that final honor to be that of his birthfather’s people. 

But when they removed him from the basement where they had questioned him with their blades, it was not a field to be shot or bunker to be hurt but a prison that they took him.  Stalag III.

 

The Doctor reminded him of Natasha.  A haunted past behind a cool exterior, intelligent and observant and blessedly free of questions.  He found the same serenity he had found with Natasha.  A quiet of the soul where he could retreat from the attacks of the outside world. 

He had rewarded this similarity and acceptance with the Med Bay.  Norns knew that they needed it.

 

He liked Parker, as well, though he could not admit it.  The boy had all of the innocent naiveté that Thor had exuded when they were younger, but also possessed a tricky, intelligent mind.  Loki had never had younger brothers, but he suspected his treatment of such would be similar to his treatment of Parker.  The boy respected his words and obeyed his orders and in exchange, Loki protected him and taught him. 

 

Loki’s first escape attempt had been his last.  He’d made it to Hammelburg when an arm reached out from behind a corner and grabbed him by the lapels.  He’d been about to fight the figure when Natasha pressed a finger to his lips. 

“Заткнись, идиот,”[3] she’d whispered into his ear.  “Do you want to die?” 

He knew by the tone of her voice the question wasn’t rhetorical. 

“Not here,” he’d answered, just as quietly.  He felt her nod her head against his shoulder and then he was being pulled toward the backdoor of a café in the next alley. 

 

“Seems like you’re still clearing up my messes,” Loki had said when they reached the tiny apartment where she was staying under the guise of a waitress from Mittenwald.  She’d remained mostly silent, only handing him a bottle of vodka and a few biscuits. 

“You’re too skinny, зайчик.”[4]

They drank the vodka in silence until Natasha finally spoke again.  “You look better,” She said.  “Too skinny, too hurt, but better.”

Loki slowly nodded.  “Yes,” he agreed. 

She nodded as well.  “Then I suppose it’s assignment time.”

“Assignment?”

“You didn’t think London HQ was going to let a good operative who has infiltrated behind the enemy lines to just laze about in prison, did you?”

“Are you rescuing me like a princess in a fairy tale?”

“No, I’m ordering you to stay put like an evil stepmother.”

Loki nodded, and Natasha looked at him oddly. 

“I would have expected more of a fight on that.”

Loki shrugged.  “I have become attached.”

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of Natasha’s mouth. “Met a man, have you?”

“Several,” Loki deadpanned. 

The smirk widened and Natasha actually laughed.  “You have gotten attached, haven’t you?  Well, that should help with the assignment.”

She explained the duties, mostly awaiting orders that would be relayed to her and aiding with anything the resistance and London HQ decided.   Loki nodded along.  It would help to have something to alleviate the boredom of the prison camp.  And if he couldn’t escape, he could at least aid others in their escapes.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” Natasha said, not quite looking him in the eye.  “London knows about you.”

For a moment, Loki wasn’t sure what she meant.  And then it dawned on him and he was trying to stand and run before he could even think about it.

Natasha stayed him with a hand on his wrist.  “Stop, Loki.  Listen.”

Loki paused, half-way out of the chair and almost fleeing.

“They won’t hold it against you.  Laufey’s dead; you killed him.  You’ve more than proved your loyalty.”

Loki sat again and poured himself another shot of vodka.  Natasha patted his hand. 

“I—“ Loki drank the shot.  “I apologize for not telling you.  Especially after—I should have told you.”

Natasha nodded.  “Yes,” she agreed.  “But the past is over.  Что бы́ло, то прошло́, yes?”[5]

Loki gave her a tiny smile.  “I suppose.”

 

She kissed his cheek and sent him back to the camp slightly tipsy.  The guards hadn’t noticed he was missing. 

 

The first assignment had been easy.  He was to retain his cover while simultaneously helping Fury’s people with their escape plans.  By the time Natasha told him, he’d already obtained a pickax and cat’s paw for them.  The orders were just a formality. 

 

The second assignment was more difficult.  His cover was too important to risk.  He had to recruit someone to carry messages to and from Natasha for him. 

Parker was out.  He wouldn’t consider it.  The boy shouldn’t have been in a warzone to begin with.  Loki shuddered to think of what would happen if he were accused of spying. 

Natasha didn’t push him on it, for which he was grateful. 

That left the rest of the camp to consider.  He finally chose Barton because the man, infuriating and sarcastic as he was, was a damn good soldier.  He had been part of a sniping detail and still worked as lookout for Fury and Coulson once in a while, though never truly threw his lot in with them.  That was another plus for Loki.  The last thing he needed was Fury knowing his status as a spy. 

 

He’d approached Clint in the Dining Hall.  The man looked up with an expression of expectant surprise. 

“I have a proposition for you, Barton.”

“You’ll have to get down on one knee, Lieutenant, I’m not the easy type.”

Loki felt a smile tug at the side of his mouth and Parker hooted. 

“Oh, you’ve gotta offer it to him,” Parker had hissed in his ear, “Nobody else’ll make sure and question whether you’re right or not.”

“Perhaps I wish to have subordinates who rely on my authority rather than inquiry,” Loki had answered , quirking an eyebrow at his protégé.    

“Naw, boss.  If that were true, you never would have put up with me.”

 

Barton was indeed a good choice.  Parker had someone to prattle on with, and he survived Natasha, which was an achievement of monumental stature.

 

The first time he came back late, with the smell of her perfume on his uniform, Loki had crowded him against the wall with his height and held a sharpened knife to his throat. 

“What,” Loki had gritted through clenched teeth, “Do you think you are doing?”

Clint had glared and tried to push the Lieutenant away.  The taller man was surprisingly heavy and difficult to move. 

“Didn’t peg you for a prude, Lieutenant.”

“I am not,” Loki said, leaning closer, the pressure on Clint’s throat becoming more acute.  “I simply do not appreciate…”  Loki seemed to be searching for words, “fraternization between cohorts.”

The words seemed to cool Clint’s anger.  “Ah.”  He said.  “I didn’t know that’s how it was.”  He looked Loki up and down again.  “She said you thought love was for children.”

Loki took the knife away like he’d been burned.  “That is not what—I do not possess feelings for Miss Romanova.”

Clint raised his eyebrows at Loki.  The Lieutenant sighed.  “I do not believe there is any possible positive outcome for any such a liaison and I would rather not endanger—“

“Endanger what exactly?  Natasha?  She can take care of herself.  Me?  I can take care of myself, too, with some to spare.  The mission?  I don’t think even you’re that dedicated.  So what are you afraid this will endanger?”

Loki glared at him.  His jaw jutted out stubbornly and he remained silent. 

Clint surveyed him with that close scrutiny that made him such a valuable asset.  “You’re jealous,” he said.  It was not a question.

“I already told you—“

“Not like that.  You hate it that you can’t see her and you hate it more that I can.  You think that if me and Nat are close there’s no room for you.  You’re scared shitless she’ll abandon you for me.”

Loki shook his head mutely. 

“Aw, don’t worry buddy,” Clint said grinning as he embraced Loki, knife and all.  “I won’t tell anyone you have a heart.”

Loki had spluttered in protest, but Clint had just tugged him closer.  “Don’t worry, Lieutenant.  She can have both of us,” he’d said, then smacked a kiss onto Loki’s temple.  Loki had shaken Clint off like an enraged cat and stalked off. 

He never protested again. 

 

Loki sat in his tiny officer’s quarters, reading a pocket-copy of the German translation of Hamlet.  He had smuggled it away from the guards barracks.  He doubted they would miss it; none of the guards seemed the Shakespearean type.  Parker ran into the room with a handful of Clint’s cigarettes.  He grinned wickedly and dived under Loki’s bunk, pulling the scratchy woolen blanket down to hide behind. 

Barton barreled through the hut, stopping to look in Loki’s room. 

“You seen that little shit?” Barton asked.

Loki gave him his best blank look and Barton moved on. 

Loki turned a page.  “You’ll do better if you have a plan.”

Parker stuck his face out from under the bed, one cigarette hanging from his mouth.  “I like improvising.”

Loki smiled and turned another page.  _Yes,_ he thought.  _He was quite attached._  

  


* * *

[1] “Meet your son, Father.”

[2] “Attack, boy.  Did the All-Father take your courage, coward?”

[3] “Shut up you idiot.”

[4] “ты слишком тощий, Rabbit.”

[5] “What’s done is done, да?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Part 2 will be up on Sunday.


End file.
